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Section 288
Passage 1 of 5 · section 288 of 1004
1Iach.
2The Crickets sing, and mans ore‑labor'd sense
3Repaires it selfe by rest: Our Tarquine thus
4Did softly presse the Rushes, ere he waken'd
5The Chastitie he wounded. Cytherea,
6How brauely thou becom'st thy Bed; fresh Lilly,
7And whiter then the Sheetes: that I might touch,
8But kisse, one kisse. Rubies vnparagon'd,